Sparkling Sake Sangria
by galliechan
Summary: A collection of Yuri on Ice one-shots. Three: As long as Yuri still loved skating and exclaimed in joy when he broke records, he was all right.
1. Third-rate Coach

Disclaimer: The Yuri on Ice anime is the property of its authorised owners. These short stories are created by the author. All original settings, characters, etc. remain the property of the author.

Author's Note: I wasn't planning on writing anything for this anime as I had many projects going on already. Then inspiration came. Felt like I will write more than an one-shot so made this a collection. As usual with my one-shot collections, this one is also named after a cocktail.

It's recipe:

2 Cucumbers Sliced

2 cups Pineapple cut in chunks

2 cups Plum wine

2 cups Sparkling Sake

1 Star Fruit Sliced

\- Add the fruit and plum wine into a small pitcher and let it sit to soak for at least a few hours (or overnight!).

\- Top with sparkling sake, give it a stir and then serve.

I hope it is a nice cocktail.

As for this story - it is inspired from Yakov's sentence from the latest episode, "If your student's trying to console you, you still have a long way to go as a coach, Vitya." Until this point, he complained that Victor was only playing coach so he should come back. With this sentence, it felt like he was acknowledging that Victor was a coach, one with a long road ahead of him but a coach nonetheless.

Enjoy!

Warning: This story contains spoilers for episode 7.

Sparkling Sake Sangria

A Yuri on Ice fanfiction collection

by Galliechan

© Copyright 2016

Third-rate Coach

"Hey, Yakov, can I have a minute?"

Yakov turned, then couldn't help himself and glared at his former student.

"What do you want?"

"I have a ques -"

"Where is your student?" he barked.

"He is doing an intervi -"

"What are you doing here? Stand by him, you third-rate coach!"

His smile dimmed. His blue eyes slid to the corner of the room where his student held his silver medal with a mixture of honor and embarrassment. The Japanese reporter looked proud.

Yakov eased on his glare and looked at the boy who used to be one of his star pupils. Victor loved ice more than any other and ice loved him back, more than any other. Nevertheless, this relationship had an end. Yakov knew it. Victor knew it. The Russian team knew it. The whole figure staking community knew it.

As his coach, Yakov always had to be ahead of Victor's impulses. He could feel his student's restlessness after the season.

Of course, Victor could always skate another season and even win all the gold medals. However, nobody would be surprised. Victor hated this fact so much that Yakov didn't see him skate another season.

Such a shame because Victor thrived on skating. He loved attention. He wanted every eye in the room, in the ring, in the arena to look at him and only him. In figure skating, only skaters could have such attraction.

Yakov thought of commentators - too little attention and too much praising others - reporters - too much asking questions he knew the answers of - and columnists - too little action. He thought of coaches - too little attention and too unselfish. Then he thought of show skaters - too little competitiveness. At long last, he found it - choreographers. He imagined his student as a proud choreographer that could use every note, every nuance of the music to make up more and more expressive yet difficult step sequences. The new generation would win medals with Victor's choreographies.

Yakov readied himself for his last duty as this talented boy's coach. If he didn't come to him, a delightful grin on his lips and eyes bright with a new idea, Yakov would hint at it. Remind how he loved to create his choreographies and complain when Yakov made any changes. How he refused to work with any choreographers. How he already prepared two for the next season before he decided to take a break.

Then the stupid, foolhardy boy became a coach. The least suited job for him.

"It's okay," his student murmured as he turned back to Yakov, "the reporter is a fan."

A fan of Katsuki Yuuri, he meant.

Yakov never imagined his student could leave his proud self aside to root for another skater.

Not an ordinary one, by all means. Every one of his faults aside, Victor has always been clever.

Katsuki Yuuri competed in the Grand Prix Finals. Yes, he finished in the last place and quit skating. Afterward, with his chubby figure, he completed one of Victor's programs - all the jumps, step sequences, hand movements and even facial expressions flawless.

The boy had talent, experience and admiration for Victor. The boy also had a problem that didn't allow him to show his full potential in competitions.

Victor made a smart choice. If he solved one obstacle, he could carry the boy to victory. A good first step as a coach.

Yet, his student was a first-rate skater, third-rate coach. By now, he must have jumped over and over again, only to see confused eyes. Tried to get close, but faced rejections. Understood that this job stood for more than choreography, step sequence or practice. Yakov thought ahead of Victor's impulsiveness and then feigned surprise, gave Georgi instructions that would disturb him just so and looked for signs of rebellion, beg his ex-wife to give lessons to this talented but loud-mouthed boy who wouldn't bother to express his gratitude to his coach.

This job meant he could see the change in his student who asked him to join for hot pot two days ago and now, where his somber eyes kept both Yakov and Katsuki Yuuri in his sight.

"So, what?"

"How do you deal with anxiety before competitions?"

He glowered and barked, "Why would I give tips to my rival?"

His student winced. "Because you are a first-rate coach?"

Oh, calm down, old heart.

Then again, Victor never withheld his compliments.

Victor's look hurt Yakov's heart. The boy saw his flaws, but not how to correct them.

For years, Yakov tuned himself to every tick and blink of this boy and the moment he left his side, this look of helplessness and misery came over his face? Yakov calmed down after he also saw the hope in his blue eyes.

"Ah, the interview's over." His complete attention turned to his student. Yakov watched with interest as his expression softened and his eyes glowed. Even his most heart-wrenching programs didn't create such a tender look on his face as he gazed into Katsuki Yuuri's eyes.

His student was clever. He was also lucky.

The Japanese boy's expression showed no issues of trust or respect between them.

Good.

Victor put his hand to his student's shoulder as soon as he got within an arm's distance. "Yuuri! My former coach, Yakov."

Do a proper introduction, idiot b -!

The boy gave a slight bow, and then put his hand back to his coach's waist, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Feltsman."

He had kind eyes with dark bags under. He leaned to Victor but didn't put his head on his shoulder because of his respect for Yakov. His calm gaze focused on Yakov's eyes, like a student determined to pass this test. Victor, unaware of their exchange, looked at the boy like he held an unlimited capacity to surprise him.

No wonder his student fell for this boy, who dared to do a quad flip at the end of his program while exhausted from a sleepless night and nerves all day. Of course, his ambitious and proud student had to give a larger surprise.

The stupid, impulsive and lucky boy who found someone to surprise him, at last. Who did the least suited job for him to support this boy. Even swallow his pride to ask advice from his old coach.

His boy grew up.

Katsuki Yuuri looked at the Russian men and smiled.

"I - I didn't congratulate Phichit-kun and Celestino yet. Coming back in a minute." He released his hold on Victor's waist and ran to the gold medalist. Victor blinked after him.

Perspective boy. He even started the conversation at a place that he could see Victor and Yakov from the corner of his eyes.

"You are a third-rate coach," Yakov said. His student looked at him with wide eyes. "But you didn't win gold in your first tournament either." Victor blinked as if Yakov had never said supportive words to him before.

What did the boy think he did for all those years?

"Your student is experienced and knows what he wants from his coach. Listen to him, learn his cues. When not sure, ask him." He frowned, "and don't ask me advice, you are not my student anymore!"

Victor smiled. The same smile he gave years ago at a Kiss and Cry. A flower crown still on his head and a dog plushie on his lap, he learned his total score, the highest, his first gold medal. Thereon he turned to Yakov next to him, smiled and said, "Thank you, Yakov!"

Yakov became senile if he got emotional over a smile.

"Thank you, Yakov!"

He grumbled and turned around to leave the building. Georgi was at the doors like he had instructed.

At the sliding doors, he glanced back. Katsuki Yuuri had returned back to his coach's side, his head on his shoulder and eyes closed as Victor played with his messy hair. He pulled his dark bangs aside to put a light kiss on his forehead. The boy opened his eyes, raised his head and squeezed Victor's waist. They gazed at each other, their lips curled upwards without their notice.

Yakov liked this look on his student. Katsuki Yuuri supported him as he leaned on him.

Good.


	2. Intermission: For Makkachin

Warning: Spoilers for episode 8.

Intermission: For Makkachin

A steamed bun got stuck in his throat, echoed in Viktor's head. A steamed bun.

 _One thing. I told you only one thing, Makkachin. Don't eat any steamed buns._

Why, why Makkachin?

His chest hurt. His heart worked in a frantic rhythm, each beat like a desperate breath against huge waves.

Or they sounded like that in Viktor's ears? He couldn't seem to take enough air. He was surrounded by something…like liquid…or not…like…drowning.

Everything seemed to have slowed down and come from afar.

"Huh?" Three voices exclaimed at the same time. Viktor blinked back to his coach. Sounds, colors, and reality washed over him.

Makkachin drowned…no, choked. He couldn't take enough air too.

"I-I should go," he said to Yuuri as his fingers clenched on Yakov's shoulders. He didn't know who he said it to.

"Go to the hotel, I will buy your ticket," Yuuri said, his eyes honest and open. Viktor stood between two pillars of strength, eyes on one and hands on another. His breath seemed to ease.

Yuuri glanced at his phone, Viktor saw the main screen of the airline app for a moment, before his eyes returned back to Victor's. Did he know huge waves of something kept at bay as long as he looked at Viktor?

Viktor wanted to be with him tomorrow.

He wished Yuuri hadn't told him about Makkachin. He was grateful Yuuri had told him about Makkachin.

Why did you eat those steamed buns, Makkachin? Why now? Why not tomorrow or when they returned back?

Why eat them at all? _It was the only thing I told you not to do!_

Warm hands held his wrists. Yakov tightened his hold for an instant before he freed his coat from Viktor's clench. His arms fell back to his sides as he swayed on his feet.

"Vitya, I will take care of your student for tomorrow."

He nodded. Then nodded again with a murmur, "Thank you, Yakov."

"Got it. Your flight is in three hours." Yuuri said. When did Viktor take his eyes off him? They had clouded in worry in the meantime, still wider than normal.

An hour ago, he kissed Yuuri's skates at Kiss and Cry.

They still had to perform. Viktor had to give lot and lots of interviews. Tomorrow, before the program, he planned to get on one knee and take off Yuuri's skate guards. He intended to watch Yuuri with his largest smile and jump in joy when he made the quad flip. He wanted to kiss Yuuri's medal and ask for an autograph in front of all the cameras.

He wondered how Yuuri would deal with his anxiety this time. Viktor had suggestions, strategies, and ideas. He wanted to try his best and be at Yuuri's side.

Like Yuuri wanted. The only thing Yuuri wanted.

So why Makkachin? Why, why, why dear Makkachin?

Don't die Makkachin.

He blinked and bit his lip. His breath hitched.

"Go to the hotel, Viktor. I will be okay tomorrow."

Viktor nodded. He took a step back from Yakov and turned around to face Yuuri. He stood a few steps away from Viktor, although it felt like the end of a long corridor.

He wanted Yuuri to hug him and then kiss him. Caress his hair and tell that Makkachin would be okay. That he would be fine. That Viktor should prepare his Katsudon for his return and let's put the steamed buns to another place where Makkachin wouldn't be able to reach.

Instead, Yuuri didn't move from his respectful distance, standing straight but smile unsteady, his eyes still wide with worry.

Viktor gritted his teeth. He took a step towards him.

At least ten cameras flashed around him, several reporters raised their microphones and closed their distance.

Damn this place! Damn - Damn all these - this everything!

Yuuri told him to go to the hotel, again. Viktor nodded, hoping his emotions would reach him through his look, his expressions. Then, he turned around and ran.


	3. The Winner Stands Alone

The winner stands alone

"Final skater of the second group, Yuri Plisetsky, four-time Grand Prix Gold winner and the Olympic Gold winner, took his place on the ice." The commentator said amongst cheers from the audience. Viktor pushed the Makkachin tissue box and blade guards to his chest, he could feel his rapid heartbeat through them.

His tightened-up muscles relaxed when a warm hand took his and laced their fingers. The hand was shaking, though.

"He is going to be fine."

"Of course he will be."

They didn't take their eyes off the figure skating in circles on the ice. Yuri's new long hair suited him, although he didn't have the delicate features of his youth anymore. They befitted his sharp eyes and soft smile.

Viktor knew which one came from who.

They had their traditions before competitions. Viktor still held his Makkachin tissue box, a memory of his dear companion. Yuuri held Yuri's tissue box, an angry cat that only created a snort instead of the huge scowl of past. He also had a paper bag. Viktor could smell the faint delicious aroma of pirozhki, and he knew they tasted as good, for he ate two before Yuuri noticed and chased him away from the kitchen.

Yuri looked at them before taking his place in the middle of the ice.

"Yurio! Davai!" Yuuri shouted.

"Gamba!" Viktor shouted, raising his joined hand with Yuuri.

Their voices echoed from the large screens at the either side the arena. The cameramen, reporters, commentators - everyone knew this tradition.

It was their most important.

Yuri gave a tiny smile, his expression fond, exasperated and grateful at the same time. Then he took a deep breath, got into his position and adjusted his expression. The music started.

"Shock the audience, Yuri," Viktor whispered.

Yuri started his program with a quad flip. It didn't surprise anymore.

It wasn't called Viktor's signature move anymore, too.

He had three more quads in his program, amongst various jumps and combinations. This program was harder than last year's where Yuri broke the world record. And the last year's was harder than the previous year's.

Everyone expected Yuri to break another world record today. They expected him to be his perfect skater self and show them a great program.

They expected him to win his fifth Grand Prix Gold and then next year, break Viktor's record.

Viktor knew this feeling. He had stood at the top of the world, alone, bored out of his mind and wondered why he skated. Only with the man next to him, he gained his love for skating back.

Yuri wouldn't have the same fate. Victor would continue to push him, continue to create more and more complicated programs while eyeing the competition, hoping they would be able to catch up.

In the meantime, Viktor and Yuuri cheered for him. They also reminded that Yuri didn't break Viktor's record yet. That he had once lost to Yuuri. That he still didn't have Yuuri's stamina and didn't dare to skate another's program and make it his own.

They always reminded that they were with Yuri. He might be alone on the ice, but he wasn't off it. He might be alone on the top of the world, but Viktor was once there too. Yuuri was the one who caught him when he fell, if Yuri were to fall, he would also be there for him.

They had their Makkachin tissue box, pirozhki, and lectures at Kiss and Cry.

Yuri finished his program among loud cheers. A perfect program.

Viktor wished Yuri broke his record. Viktor wished he didn't break his world record.

Yuri skated towards them, panting and flushed. Yuuri snatched the blade guards from Viktor's hand and ran ahead. Instead of giving them, he hugged the young man.

Viktor watched them for a moment, his heart too full and warm, before he joined the hug. Yuri hugged back.

Some time later, Yuuri remembered the blade guards and Yuri took them with a snort. He pulled them on, but before he straightened, he winked Viktor and snatched the paper bag hanging limp from Yuuri's hand, forgotten. Viktor put a kiss to Yuuri's neck to turn his complaints to splutter.

Yuri grinned at them from the Kiss and Cry. Viktor sat down next to him and decided to give him enough time to eat one before his lecture on his imperfections of the program.

"Katsudon pirozhki?" Yuri froze and frowned, "you expected me to win?"

"We were hoping, at the least."

"But this is a competition and anything could happen -"

Viktor remembered his last gold and how he despaired for someone else to win it.

"You are eating them before the scores."

Yuri looked at Yuuri, behind the cameras and Viktor, sitting next to him, in confusion.

"It is katsudon pirozhki, not katsudon," Yuuri said, his smile soft and eyes radiant. "It works as congratulations, condolences, cheering or a birthday gift. The real katsudon will be tomorrow."

Viktor felt Yuri relax next to him, "then I will give your gift tomorrow too."

Viktor blinked Yuuri's bright smile away. "Unfair!" he yelped, "I got mine on my birthday, give his on his birthday too."

"I am giving his early!"

"Exactly!"

Yuuri grinned. "Then Victor will make your pirozhki for the finals."

Viktor's complaints trailed off. As if he didn't hear them, he turned to Yuri and started his lecture.

Yuri and Yuuri laughed.

Afterwards, all of them waited with breaths held as the scores were announced.

Yuri broke his record.

He jumped up from his seat in joy. Yuuri and Viktor looked at each other and smiled.

As long as Yuri still loved skating and exclaimed in joy when he broke records, he was all right.


End file.
